


A Tumblr Romance

by a_splash_of_stucky



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Butt Plugs, Cock Cages, Dick Pics, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, Gay Bucky Barnes, Grinding, Identity Reveal, Inspired By Tumblr, M/M, Making Out, Nude Photos, Pining, Plagiarism, Sexual Content, Tattooed Bucky Barnes, Tumblr, Voyeurism, a lot of slurs are used, sam and nat are background, see notes - Freeform, steve sam nat is past/mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 19:04:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14361702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_splash_of_stucky/pseuds/a_splash_of_stucky
Summary: With each picture that he comes across, Steve feels his heart do that weird clenchy thing. He can already see the engraving on his tombstone.Cause of death: saw a dick pic that was too hot to handle.





	A Tumblr Romance

**Author's Note:**

> LET ME TELL YOU THE STORY OF HOW THIS FIC CAME TO BE:
> 
> So one night, at around 4.30 in the morning, I was lying in bed, trying to will myself to go back to sleep. In my half-asleep state, I giddily wondered what Steve and Bucky would be like if they started off as a Tumblr friendship. Cue: a rather vivid daydream that is basically a plot of this story. 
> 
> If I fail my mocks next week, this monstrosity will be the reason why. Oh well. It’s quite possibly my new favourite piece of writing so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> AND! the struggles of posting this fic on AO3 are real. Basically, I'm kinda pissed off at AO3 rn, and I apologise for the shoddy formatting :/

Steve is feeling extremely pleased with himself. 

 

He hates being cliché, but it really does seem like he’s woken up on the right side of the bed today. 

 

For once in his life, the stars have aligned themselves in his favour. That elusive creature otherwise known as his productivity decided to show up on a day where he was feeling rather inspired, so he’s been able to attack his art with renewed vigour. He’s made a lot of headway with a project that’s due in a couple of weeks; it’s a commission for one Phil Coulson, a frequent buyer of Steve’s work. 

 

That unexpected burst of productivity has also given him enough energy to tackle the chores that he’s been neglecting this week. He’s finally taken care of the — frankly terrifying — pile of dirty clothes that’d been sitting in the corner of his laundry room for well over a fortnight. On top of that, he’s vacuumed the entire apartment, cleared out his pencils drawer, reorganised his fridge and made himself not one, but _two_ meals from scratch. 

 

Seriously. He hardly recognises himself. 

 

It is with this sense of self-pride that Steve settles into the couch for quiet Friday evening on his laptop. He’s got the History Channel on for some background noise, a mug of tea by his elbow and has changed out of his paint-stained work clothes into a pair of soft jersey sweats and a loose cotton t-shirt. 

 

Oh yeah, this is the life. 

 

Steve perches his laptop on the armrest of his couch and logs into Tumblr. The first thing he does is to go into his notifications to check how his newest post has been doing. 

 

1297 notes since he posted it yesterday evening — not too shabby, for a black and white nude. 

 

There’re a couple of new messages for him in his inbox, which is the next thing he checks. 

 

**anonymous** said:

_OMG Cap!! lovin the new pic, you look amazing!!!!_

 

He chuckles to himself, takes a sip of tea, then types out a quick response to thank the lovely anon, before moving onto the next ask. 

 

Steve’s had this Tumblr account for over four years now. It started off as a way for him to share his artwork to widen his audience and build up some connections. Sometime along the way, he started posting pictures of himself in various states of undress.

 

**anonymous** said:

_Cap!! u rlly should consider a modelling contract bc that bod is TO DIE FOR_

 

Steve squirms in his place, partly out of embarrassment and partly because he’s really pleased. As he graciously thanks the anon, he can feel the heat rising to his cheeks. Yes, he’s been posting nudes for almost as long as he’s had this blog, and yes, he really should be used to this by now, but the comments and compliments have the same effect on him as they did when he first started doing this. 

 

**anonymous** said:

_istg Cap, you’ve got some sick camera skills. pls bLESS US WIT UR TALENT_

 

Steve laughs quietly, at that one. Really, the picture is nothing special. He’d been messing about with his new DSLR a couple of afternoons ago, fiddling with the settings and figuring out what it could do. Steve had wanted to test it on a live model and, with him being the only live model available, had set the camera on a tripod and went to town with it. He can’t remember at what point he decided to get naked, but naked he was, for the last forty or so pictures. 

 

As he was going through the images on his desktop the next day, he came across one that looked decent enough to post. 

 

It’s a side-on black and white shot of him from the neck down, kneeling on the bed with his torso twisted towards the camera. The sinking afternoon sun spilling through the open window casts panels of light over his naked body. He’s got his left hand on the bed behind him to steady himself, whilst his right hand is wrapped around his semi-hard cock. Steve’s got to admit that his ass looks particularly plump in this position, and his twisted torso creates the illusion of a smaller waist, which in turn emphasises the breadth of his shoulders. It’s an inviting picture; the messy bedcovers and pillows in the background, coupled with the black and white filter giving the image a boudoir-like vibe. 

 

Steve had given up on the camera a few shots later, satisfied with his rudimentary grasp of how the camera worked. He’d sprawled out on his bed, taken his leaking cock in hand and rubbed one out in full view of the window, so that anyone living in the apartment across would be able to look in and see. 

 

Sue him, Steve’s a fucking exhibitionist. Why else would he be posting his nudes online?

 

Drawing himself out of his daydream, Steve goes back to his notifications and continues scrolling down, stopping every time he sees that someone has reblogged his picture and added a comment. 

 

_@captain-america_ _nice to see u posting some new content!_

 

_oooh Cap that is hawt!!_

 

_Cap u are legit so fucking gORGEOUS pls hv mercy on us mortals over here_

 

For each one, he hits the reblog button, types out a quick reply and adds them to the queue. There’s a permanent smile on his face because _seriously_ , he’s got the sweetest followers anyone could ever hope for. 

 

At that moment, his laptop pings softly, just as a ‘1’ pops up next to the Tumblr messenger icon. Steve clicks on it and his smile broadens when he sees who the message is from. 

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_Hey man, saw the new pic and I gotta say it’s nice to see u out of ur dry spell. U planning on posting any art on here soon? - Sam_

 

Just before Steve’s about to type, another message comes in. 

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_Oh, and Nat said to tell u hi and that she’s still waiting on that sketch u promised_

 

Steve shakes his head in fond annoyance. 

 

Sam and Natasha are his oldest friends on this blue hell-site. Steve credits them for inspiring him to post his own nudes on Tumblr.

 

Sam and Natasha, or the Falcon and the Spider respectively, as they’re known to most people, are a couple that run a page which essentially consists of pictures and gifs of them doing the dirty in various exotic locations. The nature of their work means that those two are always travelling somewhere, giving them ample opportunity to indulge in a hotel room/balcony/bathroom photoshoot every now and then. 

 

Within four or five months of Steve having this blog, Sam and Nat had reblogged one of his nudes to their account, landing him about 300 new followers overnight and his first Tumblr friendship, as an added bonus. They’d learned each others’ real names somewhere down the line, and Steve’s even met up with them on a few occasions. But, for the most part, their friendship is lived through Tumblr messenger, flooding each others’ ask boxes and reblogging each others’ posts with weird comments in the tags. 

 

**captain-america:**

_thanks man, appreciate it. been p busy with work so i haven’t been able to post as much stuff on here as i’d like :(_

_one more big deadline and then i can get back to it tho! thinking of posting some WIPs or sthg soon_

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_niiiiiice_

_the people love ur art, Steve, im sure they’ll love that_

 

**captain-america:**

_oh also, i sent u guys an ask a couple days ago abt that balcony pic u and nat posted. did u see it?_

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_WHAT??_

_no way_

_nope. didn’t show up_

 

**captain-america:**

_fuck tumblr_

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_agreed_

_staff needs to sort that shit out man_

_apparently a lot of our asks are getting eaten_

 

**captain-america:**

_sometimes i wonder why i even bother with this site_

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_bc it’s ur only connection to me?_

 

**captain-america:**

_tru_

_tho i do hv ur phone #_

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_and u never use it why???_

 

**captain-america:**

_who knows_

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_bc u stupid_

_oh yeah! i meant to tell u!_

_nat and i r heading to vegas in 2 months_

 

**captain-america:**

_fancy_

_the vegas pics from the last trip were some of your best_

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_thanks man_

_that was all nat tho_

_thank goodness for ballet_

_flexible like nothing i’ve ever seen_

 

**captain-america:**

_SAM_

_I DON”T WANNA HEAR ABT UR SEX LIFE_

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_u just sad cuz u ain’t gettin any :P_

 

**captain-america:**

_I WILL LOG OUT_

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_no u won’t_

_u love me too much_

 

**captain-america:**

_ugh_

_sometimes i wonder y_

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_bc we’re ur only chance of getting laid_

 

**captain-america:**

_I CAN GET LAID WITHOUT YOU GUYS_

_THANK YOU VERY MUCH_

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_mmhmm_

_tell me you didn’t enjoy it the last time u and me and nat hooked up tho?_

 

**captain-america:**

_we are not having this discussion_

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_as in_

_we r not having this discussion rn?_

 

**captain-america:**

_as in, NEVER_

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_fine_

 

**captain-america:**

_how did we even get here?_

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_tbh?_

_idk_

_oh right! yeah, me and nat r going to vegas, u wanna come down?_

_we’ll be there for a couple weeks_

_u could make a feature in one of our posts ;)))_

 

**captain-america:**

_i’d love to_

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_but?_

 

**captain-america:**

_i need to think abt it_

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_think abt what?_

_the trip or the being featured?_

 

**captain-america:**

_both?_

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_sure!_

_it’s cool man_

_lmk whatever ur decision is_

_we’re chill with whatever_

 

**captain-america:**

_cool_

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_ah shit_

_hey man, nice catching up w u, but i g2g, hv a meeting rn_

 

**captain-america:**

_np :)_

_tell nat i said hi_

_and that i’ll give her the sketch when she brings me more of that tequila_

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_AW HELL NAH STEVE_

_U DRINK THAT SHIT LIKE IT’S WATER_

_AND THEN SUFFER FOR THE NEXT WEEK_

 

**captain-america:**

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_ugh_

_whatever_

_bye man_

 

**captain-america:**

_bye!_

 

Well that was a nice catch-up. 

 

His relationship with Sam is one of the few things in life that brings Steve joy. Natasha he gets on with just fine, but if he’s honest with himself, he never quite knows how to hold himself around her. Whether that’s because of her killer beauty, that glint in her eye, or the fact that he can never tell whether she’s serious or not, he can’t say. But, whatever it is — she exudes danger in a way that is strangely erotic. 

 

Sam though? Sam is easy. Sam calls him out on his bullshit and tells him when he’s being stupid. Plus, he’s got a nice dick. 

 

Steve refreshes the page and starts scrolling through his dash. Whilst his main blog is reserved for his artwork and his personal photos, he’s also got a sideblog —  @old-brooklyn-soul — that he uses as an alternative to Pinterest. It’s a mishmash of content on there; landscape images jumbled up with short poems and quotes, mixed in with other artists’ work. Basically, if something catches his fancy and could potentially be used as a source of inspiration, it’s going on there. 

 

Just when it looks like Steve is going to have an all-round good day, he sees something that leaves a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. 

 

It’s a picture of himself. A nude. 

 

Which in itself, is fine. Except. 

 

He can see the source of the image written in the corner. And it is _not_ from his blog. 

 

Steve sighs in frustration. Fucking plagiarism. 

 

His picture has been reposted to another user’s account —  @crossbonesxxl. Steve scoffs at the url. How much more porn-botty can a username _get_?

 

Steve recognises the picture as one of his really old ones, the ones he posted within the first year of having his blog, before he understood the importance of having a watermark on his stuff. 

 

It’s a slightly grainy selfie of him lounging on his couch, right hand holding the camera, left hand curled around his softening cock, streaks of pearly-white come striped over his abs. The shot includes his includes his chin and lips, his stiff, peaked nipples and the fine blond hairs of his happy trail. It’s by no means his best work, but still. It’s _his_ work and fuck this guy for stealing his shit and not giving him any credit. 

 

Also — fuck him for stealing those 8,358 notes that could’ve gone to _Steve’s_ original post, maybe boosted his exposure and follower count but no. This douchebag stole those too. 

 

The caption that this fuckwit has added underneath the picture only adds insult to injury. 

 

_A pair of cock-sucking lips if I ever saw one. The only thing that’d make this pic better if it were MY cum on those pretty lil tits._

 

If Steve was raging ball of fire before, then he’s a roaring inferno right now. 

 

He’s no stranger to being objectified — he posts naked pictures of himself online, of course he’s going to get comments about his body. Most of the time, they’re sweet and he has no problem handling them, but this? Being treated like he’s a piece of meat? Like he’s some fucktoy for a fucktard like this asshole? This is the kind of shit he hates having to put up with. 

 

Steve grumbles internally. What a way to ruin a good day. Asshole. 

 

He smashes the reblog button with a little more force than necessary, then composes a couple of short sentences to convey his intense displeasure. 

 

_hmmm…I wonder why this picture looks so familiar? Oh, I know! Maybe because it’s_ **_my picture_ ** _( original here)_ _. Seriously, I’m sick of scum like you stealing my works. Please. The reblog button exists for a reason._

_tagging:_ _@spider-and-falcon_ _@agent-thirteen_ _@thathawkguy_ _@mynameisagent_ _@the-incredible-hulk_ _@theblackpanther_ _to let you know about this. I’m probably missing some people, so feel free to add more tags_. 

 

Unfortunately, Steve is no stranger to having his content plagiarised. Before he started to religiously and blatantly watermark his pictures, Steve was finding them stolen and reposted on an almost monthly basis. 

 

But, the feeling he gets from having his pictures reposted without credit is _nothing_ compared to what he feels like when his artwork gets stolen. Steve is fiercely protective over his artwork. His drawings and paintings can take him anywhere from 30 minutes to 7 hours to make. The level of fury he experiences when he sees that his art has been stolen is unlike no other — woe to the user that dared to cross him. 

 

Having reblogged the post and warned his closest mutuals about this fuckwad, Steve clicks on his url to ask him to take the post down. When he lands on the douche’s page, he wrinkles his nose in disgust. Why the fuck would _anyone_ use that shade of brown as the background colour? It legitimately resembles the colour of vomit. 

 

Apparently, the fucktard’s name is Brock. Steve snorts. It even _sounds_ like the name of an asshole.

 

Steve wastes no time shooting him an ask. 

 

 

> _Could you please remove this image: /post/173028135899/crossbonesxxl-a-pair-of-cock-sucking from your blog? This is MY image and I do not appreciate having it plagiarised. Thank you._

 

He hits send and is about to close the page when the post at the top of the page catches his eye. Steve scrolls down to look at the picture properly and feels his heart skip a beat in his chest. 

 

It’s an eye-catching picture. 

 

Actually, it’s more than that — it’s a breath-taking picture. 

 

Steve’s getting that feeling in his chest that he only gets when he stumbles across something truly exquisite — an unexpectedly gorgeous sunrise, or perhaps a particularly inspired piece of artwork in an exhibition. 

 

His reaction to these pieces of beauty is weirdly physical. His chest goes tight. Goosebumps break out over his arms. Shivers travel down his spine. His left eyelid goes a little twitchy. All these physical responses are underpinned by an—an inexplicable _soaring_ in his heart, a wave of emotion so profound he’s torn between the urge to burst out into tears or collapse into maniacal, giddy laughter. 

 

Steve’s had this reaction the first time he stood in front of a Pollock at the MoMa when he was eight years old. 

 

Steve’s had this reaction that time that time he went camping in Yosemite and watched the sun rise over Half Dome. 

 

Hell, Steve’s even had this reaction that one time he watched Sam and Natasha making love to each other on the creaky bed in their cheap motel, as the first light of day spilled in through the curtains. 

 

But _never_ has Steve had a reaction like this from looking at a plain old nude pic. 

 

It’s a shot of a young man from the neck down as he sits on his heels atop a neatly-made bed. His lean, muscular thighs are spread wide, both hands resting above the knee, relaxed. They’re pianists’ hands, Steve notes — long fingers, wide palms and oh-so beautifully veined. His body is toned yet lithe, wiry muscle encased in miles of gorgeous, lightly tanned skin. He looks delicate, yet powerful — there’s a vulnerability and submissiveness to his pose, but the subtle definition in his abs and biceps tells Steve that he’s strong and works hard to keep his body in shape. Steve can also glimpse some dark ink on his left shoulder and bicep, but at this camera angle, Steve can’t make out what his tattoo is of. 

 

The star of the show, however, are the cobalt blue lace panties that he’s got on. 

 

_Fuck_ they’re beautiful. 

 

From the looks of it, they’re cut like boyshorts, riding low on his waist and cut high on the sides of his thighs. The colour is bewitching, making his tanned skin look even more bronzed. His cock is hard, the length of it straining against the front of the panties, tenting the lace obscenely. Steve has a sudden urge to press his tongue against the man’s iliac furrow and trace it until he comes face-to-face with that leaking dick. 

 

Truth be told, there’s nothing particularly special about this picture, besides — well, everything. Steve has seen countless photos like this one, of dozens of men in this exact pose, wearing equally skimpy items of clothing. 

 

None of those pictures has ever hit him like this one has. 

 

Steve can’t put his finger on the exact aspect of this picture that is making his breath stutter and causing his dick to harden. Perhaps it’s the quality of the photo itself — it’s clearly shot using a good camera, by someone who knows what they’re doing. Then again, maybe it’s the subject of the image, a man who is truly entrancing. 

 

Whatever the case, Steve likes to think that he knows something beautiful when he sees it, and this man is definitely up there in his Top 10 Most Beautiful Things He’s Ever Set Eyes On list. 

 

Steve glances at the caption below the image and snorts. It’s from this Brock guy again and, predictably, it sounds like it was written by a top-grade douche.

 

_Wish I could see what that ass and that boy cunt looks like. He looks like the kinda guy that needs a Daddy to put him in his place ;)_

 

Steve physically retches. What an asshole. 

 

He clicks on the source of the image (it’s seems to have been reblogged, rather than stolen, surprisingly enough) and is taken to a new tab. The search bar tells him that this Tumblr belongs to thewintersoldier. Steve quickly scans through the bio and the first few posts to see if it’s the same man. 

 

JB | 24 | NYC | Single | Gay | NSFW, 18+ only.  
This is a minor-free, hate-free zone. If you’re underage and/or an asshole, I will not hesitate to block :)))  
All pics are mine unless otherwise stated.  
I write (sometimes), I like sex and I’m a total nerd. Askbox is always open!

 

The first few posts are a mixture of answered asks, mirror-selfies and more professionally taken shots. From what Steve can tell, it looks like this is the same guy as in the blue-panties picture — same lithe body, same golden skin, same dark lines on his left shoulder. 

 

Steve makes a quick detour back to his own blog settings, types in “crossbonesxxl” into the appropriate box and hits ‘block’ with a firm click of his trackpad. With another plagiarist taken care of, Steve navigates back to JB’s page, readjusts his position on the couch and begins investigating. 

 

JB has an eye for aesthetics, Steve’ll give him that. Granted, Steve probably should’ve suspected that based off the quality of that first picture he saw, but then again, that could’ve easily been a fluke, once-in-a-blue-moon shot. Steve’s inner artist strongly approves of JB’s theme, done up in gentle blues and accents of grey, with a simple single-column layout and easy navigability. He appreciates navigable, no-nonsense themes. 

 

Steve’s easily pleased, like that. 

 

It seems that the content of JB’s blog is not dissimilar from Steve’s own; personal photos taken from both a DSLR and a phone camera, answered asks and the occasional life update. Instead of artwork, JB has a few ficlets dispersed throughout his images. 

 

Steve clicks on the search bar at the top of his browser and types in “/archive” after JB’s url, to see how long he’s been on here. Apparently, the answer is: just shy of eight months. 

 

Steve navigates back to the home page and starts scrolling through it properly, wanting to learn more about this JB person. With each picture that he comes across, Steve feels his heart do that weird clenchy thing. He’s starting to wonder if this is the beginnings of a heart attack. 

 

Steve snorts. He can already see the engraving on his tombstone.

 

 

> _Cause of death: saw a dick pic that was too hot to handle._

 

Steve also finds that more and more blood is rushing south, causing his cock to properly tent the front of his sweats. Yeah. He’ll have to deal with that sometime soon. The good news is that he now has plenty of new material to replenish the spank bank. 

 

He learns an awful lot about JB in the half hour or so that Steve spends scrolling through his Tumblr. The fact that JB hosts semi-frequent Q&A hours and is rather open with his answers helps a lot. 

 

JB is a huge fan of pizza, has an enormous sweet tooth and will seriously judge anyone that likes olives. 

 

JB has full-time job in a Fortune 500 company, is a total space nerd/science geek and prefers Star Wars to Star Trek. 

 

JB prefers bottoming, has a serious praise kink (which Steve’s brain completely approves of) and is into light bondage. 

 

Steve learns a lot about JB’s preferences, his kinks, his worries — his life in general, really. Steve reads a couple of JB’s ficlets and is wowed at his skill with words. Each one must be no more than 500 words, but they’re thoughtfully written and sinfully erotic. 

 

Really though, it’s the pictures that have most of his attention. 

 

Each one is gorgeous in its own right. Whether JB is snapping a selfie in front of his full-length mirror, or spread out on the floor with his cock in his hand, he never fails to leave Steve with _want want want_ gnawing at his gut and roiling in his stomach. 

 

The pictures reveal further insights about JB. 

 

Steve notes that he’s very careful to keep not only his face out of the shot, but his tattoo as well. He’s clever with his angles to make sure that his left bicep and shoulder are never angled towards the camera. Smart kid; tattoos are easy identifiers. 

 

Beyond that, the pictures have a variety of different backgrounds, which reveal yet more information about JB’s life. A lot of his pictures are taken in his bedroom — Steve guesses that this is because it’s the part of his apartment with the best lighting. From the looks of it, it’s a fairly decent sized room, with either a twin or a queen bed and off-white walls. His bed is always made and the shelves in his room look pretty neat. 

 

JB also has some pictures that are taken in his living room, his kitchen, even some in a little sunlit dining alcove adjacent to the kitchen. Steve guesses that JB’s either got the place to himself, or has a roommate that’s out pretty often, because those non-bedroom pictures are a pretty frequent occurrence on his page. Also, his bathroom is ridiculously spacious and even has a freaking _bathtub_. 

 

Figures. If he works in an F500 company, he must be getting a pretty sweet pay. 

 

The decor and furniture in JB’s place look to be minimalistic but lived-in, high-quality but not extravagant or flashy.

 

And then, Steve stumbles across something that leaves him in shock. 

 

It’s a post that JB made three months ago. 

 

_It’s a reblog of one of Steve’s sketches._

 

Steve remembers making this one. He’d done it as a quick warm-up exercise, and it’d turned out nice enough for him to want to post on his blog. 

 

It’s a drawing of two men in bed, done in charcoal on brown paper. Their faces are generic and indistinct, but there’s no mistaking what it is their doing. Dude One, the slightly smaller of the pair, is riding the cock of Two, who is flat on his back, with his hands possessively gripping One’s thighs. One’s back is arched like an elegant bow, his head is thrown back in ecstasy. The shading around them, plus the smidge of white chalk that Steve added suggests that this is some late night or early morning canoodling. 

 

Finding his own artwork reblogged on JB’s blog is enough of a shock, but what really has Steve floored is the little caption that JB wrote to go with it: 

 

_A soft moan slips past my lips as the flared head of his cock breaches my rim. I bite my lip as gravity pulls me down, impaling me on his length. My darling groans contentedly, fingers flexing on my waist as I envelop him in the snug, warm heat of my asshole._

_I plant my hands on his muscled chest and give an experimental roll of my hips, sighing happily as pleasure sings through my spine. He’s looking up at me through heavy-lidded eyes, with a half-smile on his lips as if he can’t quite believe that this is real._

_I’m overcome with the urge to kiss those lips, so I learn forward to do just that. I clench my muscles around his unyielding length just as our lips meet, causing him to gasp into my mouth. The fingers of one hand tangle through my hair to hold me in place. We lose time like that, his cock buried balls-deep inside me, our tongues lazily dancing against one another._

_There are certainly worse days to start the day._

_— I saw this gorgeous sketch and was inspired to write! Here you go,_ _@captain-america_ _, hope you like it :D_

 

Like it? Understatement of the century, pal.

 

At this point, Steve isn’t sure whether he’s more likely to have an aneurysm, or come in his pants without even getting a hand around his cock. He’s strangely aroused but also gripped with the urge to wrap JB in the tightest hug he’s ever had to say thank you. 

 

Also — what the hell, Tumblr staff?

 

JB tagged him, and Steve didn’t get the notification? The fact that he’s only discovered this three months after the fact is more than just a shame; it’s a fucking travesty.

 

Tumblr really needs to fucking sort out its tagging system. It needs to sort out a lot of things, like the plagiarists, the porn bots and the pro-Nazi blogs, but the tagging system is high on his list. 

 

Steve wastes no time hitting the reblog button.

 

_By pure chance, I found this little gem! Yes, I’m three months late, but that is 10000% the fault of this blue hell-site (ahem,_ _@staff_ _, ahem)._

_Thank you so much,_ @thewintersoldier _, this story is beautiful!!_

 

After that, it’s a matter of smashing the ‘follow’ button on JB’s Tumblr, because really, who wouldn’t want naked pictures of a gorgeous man on their dash? 

 

He’s feeling a little peckish, so Steve sets his laptop on the side table, plugs the charger in, then saunters into the kitchen to make himself a late night snack. He’d had a satisfying spaghetti bolognese for dinner, but Steve’s appetite is unparalleled, meaning that he’s in a perpetual state of hunger. His ma used to liken him to a garbage disposal unit. 

 

He’s in the mood for eggs, so he cracks three into a bowl, whisks them up and adds in a handful of spinach and some cheddar cheese to make an omelette. Steve pops some wholewheat bread into the toaster and puts the kettle on for another pot of tea — peppermint, this time. When the eggs are done, he slides them onto his plate, then spreads some butter on his toast and carries his snack and his tea back to the couch. 

 

Steve turns off the TV when he sits down because the History Channel has moved on to a documentary about the Holocaust, and as important as that topic is, Steve has a hard time keeping his cool when he thinks about the shit that happened during that time. Besides, he’s already had his rage moment this evening with that plagiarism incident. 

 

So instead, he opens up his laptop and heads over to YouTube for some wholesome entertainment. His recommended videos currently consist of Disneyland vlogs from a whole range of channels, because Steve is a hardcore Disneyland lover and likes to live vicariously through other people. He’s been binge-watching a ton of these videos recently.

 

He puts one on and allows himself to sink into the couch cushions to enjoy his omelette and toast. Once the food is gone, he lets the next video play as he sips his tea. Steve watches another, and another, and another, and before he knows it, it’s five past midnight and he’s just spent the last hour and a half watching Disneyland vlogs. 

 

He regrets nothing. 

 

Steve gets up, collects his plate and two used mugs and brings them to the kitchen, stacking them neatly in the sink for him to deal with in the morning. He trudges back to the living room, stretching his arms up over his head to work out the kinks in his shoulders, yawning wide whilst he does so because he feels sleepy, all of a sudden. Steve plops down on the couch, unplugs his laptop and brings it into his lap. 

 

He means to turn it off and stow it away in his studio, but he can’t resist checking Tumblr one last time. 

 

Steve finds that he has an ask in his inbox and that a ‘5’ has popped up beside the messenger icon. He chooses to deal with the ask first. A huge grin stretches his lips when he sees who it’s from. 

 

**thewintersoldier** said:

_OMGOMGOMG i cant believe you followed me, i am scREAMING!! ahhhhh, i love your work so much <3_

 

Steve types and re-types his reply several times before settling on:

 

_thanks! you’re too sweet :)_

_sorry again i didn’t see that caption when you first made it, tumblr notifs are a bitch sometimes_

 

Once he’s posted his answer, he moves on to check his new messages, with a feeling that he knows who they’re from.

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_hi there_

_idk if u got that ask_

_but i sent that in 10 mins ago_

_and i now realise i might have been a bit much_

_i legit almost dropped my phone when i saw that u followed me, haha_

 

**captain-america:**

_it wasn’t too much!_

_it was kinda cute :D_

_but i’m glad i discovered u_

_you’ve got some really great stuff_

 

JB sent his messages almost an hour ago, so Steve’s not expecting a reply. Hence, he’s a little surprised when his laptop pings seconds later as a message pops up in the chat. 

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_thanks :D_

_ur in dc right?_

 

**captain-america:**

_yep_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_y r u still up?_

_isn’t it like 12 AM?_

 

Steve snorts. 

 

**captain-america:**

_dude you’re in nyc_

_isn’t it 12 AM there too?_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_touche_

_it is indeed_

 

**captain-america:**

_i got sucked into a youtube vortex_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_oh?_

_watching what?_

 

**captain-america:**

_disneyland vlogs_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_niiiice_

_ur guilty pleasure?_

 

**captain-america:**

_atm, yeah_

_wbu?_

_y were u up so late?_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_friend’s bday party_

_went out for drinks_

_drunk karaoke is the best_

 

Steve is suddenly struck with the image of JB strutting around on a stage, belting his heart out to…Lady GaGa most probably, because Steve’s learnt that she’s one of JB’s favourite artists. 

 

**captain-america:**

_drink lots of water_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_yes ma :P_

_had a whole 2 glasses_

_kinda busting for a pee_

_soz_

_u didn’t need to know that_

 

**captain-america:**

_:P_

_the damage is done_

 

Steve’s fingers itch to type out another message, to ask JB about his evening and get to know him a little more, but he clenches his fingers into fists and forces himself to take a deep breath. JB’s just been on a night out with some friends. He’s probably tired and ready to crash into bed. Steve can bother him some other time. 

 

**captain-america:**

_im guessing you’re kinda tired after a night out, so i’ll stop bothering you now_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_it’s no bother :)_

_but thx_

_i am kinda sleepy_

_talk to u soon?_

 

Steve resolutely ignores the way his heart swells at that question, shoving those emotions away into his Shit To Deal With Another Day folder. 

 

Perhaps unsurprisingly, it’s a folder that’s almost overflowing. Steve’s a bottler by nature. 

 

**captain-america:**

_yeah! i’d love to :D_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_:D_

_ttyl then_

_night, Cap_

 

**captain-america:**

_night, JB_

 

——————————

 

Steve allows himself to sleep in the next day.

 

He’s usually quite good at forcing himself out of bed at ass-crack o’ clock, but it’s a Saturday and he’s worked hard this week, so he deserves a lie-in, dammit. Steve means to get up at around nine, but winds up sleeping in until almost 11AM. 

 

That’s what happens when you go to bed at one in the morning, he supposes. 

 

When he can finally open his eyes without squinting against the bright sunlight, he extracts one arm out of his duvet and paws around his bedside table for his phone. Out of habit, he opens up his Tumblr app, because scrolling aimlessly through his dash will give him another fifteen minutes in bed, at least. 

 

He sees that he’s got some new messages and is pleasantly surprised to see that they’re from JB. Steve opens up his chat and—

 

“Holy _fuck_ ,” he breathes. 

 

JB has sent him two pictures. Steve makes two guesses. 

 

One, both pictures were taken this morning, just after JB woke up. 

 

Two, JB is a naked sleeper, which: fuck yes. 

 

They’re very similar pictures, possibly taken one after the other. JB is lying on his left side and using his left hand to take the shot, probably with his phone. His right leg is bent at the knee, foot flat against the bed, whilst his left leg is sprawled out lazily. In the first picture, there’s a thin white sheet pooled in his lap. It’s pulled up to just below his belly button, and the outline of his hard cock is blatantly visible through the flimsy material. JB has his right hand curled casually around the base of his dick. 

 

In the second one, he’s in practically the same pose, but this time, the sheet has been tugged down further, so that it’s only covering him from the thighs down. 

 

Which means that his dick is on full show. 

 

_God_ what a gorgeous dick he has. Sure, it’s only been 12 hours since Steve was last looking at pictures of it (which is totally not a creepy sentence, in this context), but somehow, he’s managed to forget just how beautiful it is. JB’s got his free hand resting casually on his right thigh. To Steve, the position is reminiscent of a Greek sculpture.

 

There’s a short message accompanying the pictures. 

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_dick or no dick? i wanna post a pic today_

 

Steve swallows. He feels more than a little turned on right now, if he’s honest with himself — who wouldn’t be, when face with eye-candy of this calibre? His morning hard-on is _very_ intent on getting some attention. He licks his suddenly dry lips and types his reply. 

 

**captain-america:**

_wow_

_didn’t expect to see that when i woke up :P_

_ummm_

_u been posting a lot of full nudes lately_

_maybe post the no dick one?_

_but both are real nice_

 

He’s about to put his phone back on his bedside table and attend to the situation between his legs, but it makes a whooshing noise to signal an incoming message. 

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_no dick it is, then_

_u been looking through my blog, cap?_

_:P_

 

**captain-america:**

_sue me_

_:P_

_i gotta b honest tho, i didn’t expect u to send me dick pics this early on in our frienship haha_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_oh_

_shit_

_OMG I JUST SENT U DICK PICS_

_I’M SORRY_

_FUCK_

_I SWRAT I DIDN’T MEAN TO_

_*swear ffs_

 

**captain-america:**

_hey! no, it’s ok, idm, honest_

_yeah it was kinda expected_

_but…i’ve seen ur dick before so it wasn’t that much of a shock?_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_oh_

_ok_

_that’s…kinda weird to think abt actlly haha_

_but r u sure?_

 

**captain-america:**

_i am_

_no hard feelings, rlly_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_ok then_

_i’ll ummm try not to do that again in future?_

 

**captain-america:**

_or maybe just warn me ahead of time?_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_yeah that works_

_thanks, cap_

_for the advice and for being chill about this_

 

**captain-america:**

_np_

_have a good day!_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_thanks u 2 :)_

 

Steve scrolls back up the chat and locates the pictures that JB sent him. There’s a possessive sense of happiness blooming in his chest at the thought that JB felt safe enough to come to _Steve_ for advice, despite only talking to him once before. Moreover, he felt comfortable enough to share these pictures with Steve before he shared them with anyone else. 

 

If Steve’s honest with himself, he wasn’t telling JB the full truth when he told him why he should post the half-nude rather than the full-nude. Yes, Steve wasn’t lying when he said that JB has been posting a lot of full-frontals, lately. But, Steve neglected to add that he likes — very much — the idea of having a picture of JB for _himself_ , one that no one else has access to. Arguably, he likes that idea a little bit too much. It’s as if JB is sharing a part of himself with Steve, like it’s a secret that only the two of them know about. 

 

Steve drinks in that picture again, tapping on the image so that it takes up the full screen. 

 

There are people who are beautiful, and then there are people who are _beautiful;_ JB is most definitely in the latter category. Steve wishes that he were in bed with JB, pressed up against that gorgeous body, maybe rutting his cock between those sweet ass cheeks. 

 

He wants—fuck he _wants_ , so bad. The desire is strong enough to have his cheeks filling with saliva. Steve wants to take JB’s cock in his mouth, swirl the tip of his tongue around that dusky pink head, find out what his pre-come tastes like. He wants to discover what kind of sounds JB makes when Steve swallows him down, wants to know whether he’ll squirm in Steve’s grip, or pull on his hair. 

 

Steve lets his phone drop beside his pillow and kicks off his duvet. He slides his palm down his torso, until his fingers curl around the base of his cock. Steve catches his bottom lip between his teeth as he jacks himself off slowly, his thumb smearing his pre-come around to ease the motion. 

 

He closes his eyes and thinks of JB, of that slim body writhing in ecstasy underneath him, of the view he’d get if Steve had him bent over a table and was fucking him from behind. 

 

_Oh yeah_ , that’s a nice one.

 

Steve paints the scene in his head. He comes home to find JB in his kitchen, fixing himself a sandwich, or something, wearing nothing besides those blue panties that started all this. Steve imagines pinning him to the island and grinding his cock against that tight little ass, pressing hot, wet kisses all over that elegant neck, maybe leaving a little bruise just behind his ear. 

 

He’d bend JB over the table and push those panties down, just far enough so that he can get at his ass. _Oh_ , and he’d have a plug inside him, that black one that he features in so many of his pictures. All Steve would have to do is get his cock out of his pants, slick it up with the lube that would be conveniently within arm’s reach, remove the plug and slide into that delicious booty with one smooth motion. 

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Steve hisses, throwing his head back and gritting his teeth. 

 

He’s getting close, that familiar tingle of pleasure beginning to intensify at the base of his cock. Steve’s got both feet planted on the bed and is thrusting his hips up into his fist, flicking his wrist on every upstroke to tease his frenulum. The side of his hand makes a satisfying _thump_ each time it collides with his pubic bone. 

 

He’s fucking JB rough in his fantasy, ploughing into his little hole with everything he’s got. JB would be moaning so sweetly for it too, maybe he’d reach back with his hand to spread his cheeks apart, or maybe he’d be trying to fuck himself back onto Steve’s cock. Steve knows that JB’s got a not-so-minor breeding kink, so maybe he’d be begging prettily for Steve to fill him up, leave his hole messy with Steve’s load.

 

Aaaaand _that_ does it.

 

Steve’s orgasm feels like it’s punched out of him, leaving him slightly winded and a little lightheaded as the pleasure crashes into him like a freight train. He comes with a carnal growl, his release spilling down his fingers and spattering over his abs. As the high begins to subside, his hand keeps working at his dick, milking the last of the come out. He eventually stops when he’s starting to feel a tad too sensitive. 

 

As he lies there savouring the post-orgasmic buzz, Steve does something that never ends well: he muses. 

 

Specifically, he muses about JB. 

 

Because although Steve only learned of his existence yesterday evening, he’s already developing the beginnings of a massive crush on this man. Steve likes his pictures, likes the way he interacts with his followers, has enjoyed the two brief conversations they’ve shared, hell, he’s even _fantasised about him_. 

 

Yep. Steve is well and truly fucked. 

 

——————————

 

It’s been three weeks since Steve met JB and he is no less fucked than he was at the start of this time period. 

 

If anything, he’s even _more_ fucked. That crush he had? It’s only gotten bigger. 

 

He and JB have been chatting on a near daily basis. JB keeps a standard working week, in office from nine to five, Mondays to Fridays (Steve does too, for that matter, when he’s not going through one of his insomnia phases or racing to meet a deadline). 

 

It’s hard for them to talk in the mornings, because Steve goes out on a run most days, and by the time he gets back, JB’s usually already taking the subway to work. Thus, the only chance they get to speak to each other properly is at the end of the day. 

 

It’s startling, really, how much Steve looks forward to his evenings, now that he’s gotten into something of a routine. He’ll have dinner, then he’ll set himself up on the couch with his dessert, a mug of tea and his laptop to wait for JB to come online. He and JB can wind up holding a conversation for _hours_. 

 

They don’t spend hours talking to each other _every_ evening. Sometimes, JB will tell Steve that he’s tired from a long day in the office, or Steve’ll remorsefully tell JB that he needs to finish up a project, but Steve tries to keep his evening free whenever he can. 

 

They’ve also developed something of a public relationship on Tumblr, which essentially involves them tagging each other in memes, sending random asks into the others’ inboxes and reblogging each others’ posts with the most exuberant, outrageous tags. Steve is delighted to learn that JB’s sense of humour is much like his own and more importantly, that he gives as good as he gets. 

 

Steve’s lounging on his couch clad in a terrycloth bathrobe and nothing else, idly scrolling through Tumblr to kill some time. He’d been chatting to JB for a while earlier, but JB had had to duck out to take a call from his parents, so Steve’s hanging around until his return. He quirks an eyebrow when a new message notification — one that’s not from JB — pops up.

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_i see you’ve discovered JB_

 

**captain-america:**

_i have indeed_

 

Steve frowns, tilting his head to the side as he considers the message again. There’s something off about it, but he can’t pinpoint exactly what it— 

 

**captain-america:**

_WAIT U KNEW ABT HIM?_

_AND DIDN’T TELL ME?_

_hold up, who am i talking to rn_

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_who indeed?_

 

**captain-america:**

_hi nat_

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_hello steven_

 

**captain-america:**

_any particular reason you’re troubling me?_

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_no_

_just wanted to make that observation_

_he’s got some nice pics, hasn’t he?_

 

**captain-america:**

_HOW LONG HAVE U KNOWN OF HIS EXISTENCE???_

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_how long indeed?_

 

**captain-america:**

_NATASHA_

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_STEVEN_

 

**captain-america:**

_istg nat_

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_maybe i did, maybe i didn’t_

 

**captain-america:**

_i hate u_

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_tut-tut, careful with your words now_

_in answer to your question_

_2 months?_

_ish?_

 

**captain-america:**

_wHAT??_

_u could’ve told me_

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_i could’ve_

_but i didn’t_

 

**captain-america:**

_I SEE THAT_

_some kinda friend u are_

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_oh hush_

_you know you love me_

 

**captain-america:**

_pfft bYE_

_see if i make a sketch for u_

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_i have your tequilaaaa_

 

**captain-america:**

_hmmm_

_i’ll think about it_

_say hi to sam for me_

 

**spider-and-falcon:**

_will do_

 

Steve shakes his head in fond amusement as he closes the chat window with Natasha. He wonders if Sam knows about JB. Steve thinks not. He’d like to think that Sam is the kind of friend who would share that kind of information with him. 

 

Right on cue, his laptop pings and a new message from JB pops up on his chat window. 

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_sorry abt that_

_forgot to call them over the weekend_

_and now it’s tuesday_

_so they had to make sure i was still alive_

 

**captain-america:**

_it’s cool, haha_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_do u miss that?_

 

**captain-america:**

_what?_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_talking to ur ma?_

 

The question gives Steve pause. In the four years that he’s been on Tumblr, Steve can think of less than a dozen people who know that his mother died; he’s fiercely protective of his private life online. He’s about to answer when another message whooshes in.

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_sry that was a bit too personal. u don’t hv to answer if u don’t wanna talk abt it_

 

**captain-america:**

_it’s ok_

_i mean i don’t wanna talk abt it_

_but it’s ok that u asked_

_we’re cool_

_:)_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_:)_

 

**captain-america:**

_what did Ann think of her present?_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_oh she was so happy!_

_thanks for the advice :D_

_i got major brother points from that_

 

It’s strange, really, when Steve thinks about how much he knows about JB. For obvious privacy reasons, there are a lot of details about his personal life that he doesn’t share with his followers. However, that rule doesn’t apply to Steve, which means that he is privy to all sorts of interesting tidbits of information.

 

He knows that JB has three younger sisters — Rebecca, Ann and Daisy. He knows that not only does JB work in an F500 company, he works in the R&D department and has worked there since receiving his engineering degree. He knows that JB lives in a nice little apartment in Brooklyn. 

 

Steve likes knowing these things about JB. Steve’s not really the kind of guy to collect things (art supplies notwithstanding), but he finds himself hoarding all these nuggets of information about JB and holding them close to his chest. He’s got a possessive, almost primal, attitude of protectiveness towards them. 

 

It’s also strange thinking about all the things that JB knows about _him;_ the facts and tidbits of information that Steve’s shared with him that he hasn’t given to anyone else on Tumblr, not even Sam or Nat. 

 

JB knows that Steve’s dad was a military man who died before Steve was born. JB knows that Steve’s ma died of breast cancer when he was in his senior year, and that Steve was diagnosed with situational depression a couple of months after the funeral. JB knows that Steve used to get bullied a lot in high school, mostly because of his size, but also because he was openly bisexual.

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_so what were we talking abt b4 my parents called?_

 

**captain-america:**

_the meaning behind ur url_

_that sounds like such a tumblr ask meme haha_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_it does, lol_

_idk really_

_winter is my fave season_

_and for a long time when i was growing up, i thought i was gonna join the military after college_

 

**captain-america:**

_no way!_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_yeah_

_my grandpa and uncle were in it_

_and they kinda influenced me from a young age_

 

**captain-america:**

_so y didn’t u go?_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_uhh_

_i was offered a major internship in my senior year of college_

_w the company im working w rn_

_and i didnt want to b the idiot that turned it down_

 

**captain-america:**

_r u happy that things worked out the way they did?_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_yeah_

_it’s a cool job_

_now ur turn_

 

**captain-america:**

_??_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_meaning behing ur url_

 

**captain-america:**

_hahahahahaha_

_funny story that_

_um_

_when i was little_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_oh this’ll be good_

 

**captain-america:**

_hush_

_when i was little, i used to get sick a lot, so i was in bed a lot of the time_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_i thought u said didn’t actl STAY in bed?_

 

**captain-america:**

_tru_

_when i was supposed to be on bed-rest, then_

_i was bored a lot, i used to draw these little comics abt captain america, this character i made up_

_he had a shield and he used to go around saving the world_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_niiiice_

 

**captain-america:**

_it was p stupid_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_idt it’s stupid! its p cool!!_

 

**captain-america:**

_thanks :)_

_my ma used to keep those comics on the fridge_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_bet ur whole house was covered in artwork, huh?_

 

**captain-america:**

_p much, haha_

_oh_

_also_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_yeeess?_

 

**captain-america:**

_do u know of @spider-and-falcon on here?_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_i do_

_we’ve been mutuals for a while_

_y?_

 

**captain-america:**

_they’re a mutual mutual_

_haha, that’s funny_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_oh cool!_

_how long have u known sam and nat?_

_oh shit_

_i meant spider and falcon_

 

**captain-america:**

_it’s ok lol_

_i actually alr knew their real names_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_phew_

_i’m just so used to thinking of them as nat and sam_

_that i forget that not every1 knows them that way, u know?_

 

**captain-america:**

_i get u_

_and to answer ur question, probs 4ish yrs?_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_woah_

 

**captain-america:**

_yeah, we met not long after i made this blog_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_cool_

_so…um_

_i was thinking_

 

**captain-america:**

_oh dear, that’s a bad sign_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_fuck u_

 

Steve manages to refrain himself from typing ‘I want you to’ in reply. 

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_but yes, i was thinking_

_that i wanted to tell u my real name_

 

Not for the first time, Steve really wishes that it were possible to send voice messages through Tumblr messenger. No amount of text can capture the ooey-gooey-melty sensation that’s flip-flopping through his heart right now.

 

**captain-america:**

_that’s…wow_

_hv u told any1 else on here ur name?_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_no_

_u’d b the first_

 

And there it is again, the inner caveman in Steve roaring to life. He’s making grabby hands with his greedy paws, hungry for this oh-so treasured tidbit.

 

**captain-america:**

_u know u don’t have to_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_i know_

_i want to_

_i’ve wanted to tell u for a while now, actually_

_hi, i’m james_

 

James. 

 

So that’s what the J stands for. 

 

“James,” Steve says aloud, testing out the syllable on his tongue. He enjoys the way his lips move to shape the name; it’s a strangely pleasing motion. 

 

Well, Steve knows what _he’ll_ be shouting the next time he rubs one out. 

 

**captain-america:**

_nice to meet u, james_

_i’m steve_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_hi steve_

_u didn’t hv to tell me ur name_

 

**captain-america:**

_i know_

_i wanted to_

_:)_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_:)_

 

**captain-america:**

_do u feel different, now that we know each other’s real names?_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_a little_

_it’s kinda like…_

_ur a real person, now?_

_ive been calling u cap in my head for so long_

_that’s kinda ur real name to me?_

_i kinda feel like my life is a lie??_

 

**captain-america:**

_i felt the same_

_the first time i did it_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_steve_

 

**captain-america:**

_yeah?_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_nothing, just wanted to try typing it_

 

**captain-america:**

_ur weird_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_says u_

_le sigh_

 

**captain-america:**

_what?_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_steve is 5 letters_

_cap was only 3_

 

Steve huffs out a laugh, amused. 

 

**captain-america:**

_pal_

_i hv it worse_

_JB was only 2_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_:P_

_sucks to b u_

 

——————————

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_what’s something you’ve never shared on tumblr?_

 

Steve has been mulling over this question for the last two minutes. He’s currently lying on his bed in the darkness, back propped up on a mountain of pillows. 

 

**captain-america:**

_idk_

_like, what kinda category r we going with?_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_idk_

_oh_

_how abt a pic?_

 

**captain-america:**

_u know_

_if u wanted nudes_

_all u had to do was ask ;)_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_WAIT_

_SHIT_

_THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT_

_I’M SORRY!!_

 

**captain-america:**

_it’s ok_

_i was just teasing_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_oh_

_asshole_

 

**captain-america:**

_:P_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_:P_

_it doesn’t hv to be a nude, just whatever ur comfortable sharing_

 

Steve considers this. 

 

He opens up his photo app and starts scrolling through his camera roll in search of something juicy to share. Now that the idea is in his head, it’s something he can’t get rid of. Steve’s going to send James a nude picture of himself — but to do so, he first needs to find one. 

 

Steve doesn’t take that many nudes on his phone anymore. He only ever takes naked pictures of himself when he wants one for his Tumblr, and ever since he started using his DSLR, he’s become something of a quality snob. He won’t settle for anything less. 

 

In the end, Steve winds up scrolling nearly five months back, all the way to November of last year. 

 

The picture is from the last time he spent a night with Sam and Natasha, when he flew out to meet them in Baltimore. He can’t remember who snapped the shot — possibly Sam, he thinks — but it’s a candid that he actually quite likes. 

 

The picture is of Steve from behind, standing at the foot of the hotel bed, body poised and about to head to the bathroom. His torso is twisted slightly to the left, meaning that a portion of the left side of his face can be seen. His lips are pulled back in laughter, probably at something Nat or Sam said. There are clothes strewn haphazardly in the background, the bedsheets are rumpled and Sam’s right foot can be seen poking out of the blankets. 

 

It’s a really nice shot, now that he studies it. His ass looks perky, his waist-to-shoulder ratio looks fantastic and his legs look long and lean. But. 

 

No one’s ever seen that much of his face before. 

 

The most Steve is willing to share in public is a bit of his chin and, on rare occasions, a glimpse of his lips. No one’s ever seen his cheeks, or his nose, and definitely not the slope of his forehead. 

 

Still, he doesn’t hesitate, selecting the picture and sending it to JB. 

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_WOW_

_holy shit steve_

_W O W_

 

**captain-america:**

_thanks_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_askhgljdgfkss_

_first off: ur waist is unfairly small_

_second: u hv such a cute smile_

 

**captain-america:**

_hehehe_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_my turn!_

 

**captain-america:**

_it doesn’t hv to be a nude_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_ik_

_im not sending u one_

_hold up_

 

A couple of minutes later, there’s a whoosh and a new picture pops up on Steve’s screen. It takes him a hot second to work out what he’s looking at and then—

 

“Oh my god,” he breathes. 

 

Because right now, Steve is staring at James’ _tattoo_. 

 

And it is goddamn gorgeous. 

 

It’s a space-inspired tattoo. The black swirls visible when James stands front-on to the camera turn out to be the edges of a galaxy, within which there are some skilfully drawn planets and moons. Steve notes that there is a network of lines connecting a series of dots which he thinks are stars — it’s a constellation, he realises. The piece is done completely in black ink; the dotwork and shading that’s gone into making it is absolutely spectacular. 

 

**captain-america:**

_JAMES_

_THAT’S FUCKING BEAUTIFUL_

_MY INNER ARTIST IS V HAPPY_

_space nerd huh?_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_yeah haha_

_the constellation is my star sign_

_pisces_

_got it done by a guy in Red Hook_

 

**captain-america:**

_i can’t stop staring at it_

_it’s gORGEOUS_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_:DD_

 

Steve feels privileged, so incredibly _privileged_ to have been able to see this. He knows how hard Bucky works to keep his tattoo out of shot and no wonder — that thing is _instantly_ recognisable

 

**captain-america:**

_thank u for sharing that w me_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_:)_

_im glad i did_

 

**captain-america:**

_it’s a gorgeous tatt_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_thanks_

_i want more_

 

**captain-america:**

_more tatts?_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_yeah_

 

**captain-america:**

_so y not get more?_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_its hard enough having to hide just one_

_i want a tatt on my ribs or smth_

_and thats gonna b a pain in the ass w pics_

 

**captain-america:**

_ohhh_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_so i wanna wait til im not posting pics on here as much anymore b4 i get another 1_

 

**captain-america:**

_thats fair_

_and smart_

_tatts are v identifiable_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_mmm_

_also i was thinking_

 

**captain-america:**

_james?_

_u still there?_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_yeah_

_just tryna figure out how 2 say this_

_i was wondering if u would design my next tatt?_

_i rlly like ur work :)_

 

Oh dear Lord, is _this_ what it feels like to have your heart give out on you?

 

Steve forces himself to re-read that sentence slowly, to make sure he’s seeing straight. He reads it three more times, for good measure. 

 

His heart is doing some crazy gymnastics routine inside his ribcage. It’s thumping like mad, his pulse loud enough to be a thunderous roar in his ears. This—to be asked to do this is a fucking _honour_ and Steve feels like his life’s purpose has been found. 

 

**captain-america:**

_!!!!!!!???!??!_

_for real?_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_yeah! it’ll b cool_

 

**captain-america:**

_omg yes id love to!_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_:D_

_not now obvs_

_but like_

_in the future_

 

**captain-america:**

_ofc!_

_whenever u want_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_mayb i’ll come visit u in dc and we can design one tgt_

Steve fervently wishes for that dream to become a reality. 

 

——————————

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_can i send u a pic?_

 

Steve cocks his head to the side and narrows his eyes at his phone in suspicion. He’s taking a lunch break at 3pm, having spent the last few hours in a painting frenzy, finishing up some drawings that he’s doing for a commission. 

 

**captain-america:**

_what kinda pic?_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_an ootd_

 

**captain-america:**

_sure_

 

Steve takes a slurp out of his instant noodles and promptly proceeds to choke as they go down the wrong tube, because WHAT THE HELL, JAMES?

 

There’s so much for Steve to ogle, he’s not quite sure where to begin. 

 

First, the shirt — if that thing can even be _called_ a shirt. James is wearing a v-neck tee that drapes perfectly on his smaller frame, treading that fine balance between fitted and baggy. The material hangs nicely over his body and the sleeves are cut in a way that emphasises the musculature in his biceps. 

 

The t-shirt is white. Which wouldn’t be a problem, if it weren’t so _sheer_. 

 

It looks like a shirt that’s been worn down after countless cycles in the washing machine. Steve can clearly see James’ nipples through the material, which is a view that he’s not complaining about that. 

 

His eyes then take in the lower portion of James’ outfit. 

 

He’s got on what is probably the tightest pair of black leather pants that Steve has ever seen. They look like they’ve been fucking _painted_ on his shapely legs. The pants cling to his thighs and calves and James’ bulge is _extremely_ prominent in them. 

 

**captain-america:**

_i choked on my lunch_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_haha_

 

**captain-america:**

_u going out in that?_

 

For some reason — a reason that Steve is unwilling to analyse at this moment, if ever — the thought of James going out in that outfit doesn’t sit well with Steve. He doesn’t have a problem with James posting naked pictures of himself on Tumblr, but somehow, the thought of him being seen by real, physical people strikes a nerve in Steve. 

 

It’s the caveman inside him rearing his head again.

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_nah_

_did some online shopping_

_was trying stuff on last night_

 

**captain-america:**

_ahhh_

_u keeping them?_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_shirt yes_

_pants no_

_too small_

_thought i was gonna rip them when i tried to sit down_

 

**captain-america:**

_shame_

_they looked good on u_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_this is payback for that pic u sent me last week_

_w the workout gear_

_c’mon steve_

_BOOTY SHORTS??_

_srsly who tf wears clothes that tight to the gym?_

 

**captain-america:**

_me_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_punk_

 

**captain-america:**

_jerk_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_ur weird_

 

**captain-america:**

_it’s my redeeming quality :P_

_also_

_aren’t u at work rn?_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_waiting for my boss to show up to this meeting_

_oh_

_here he is_

_g2g ttyl_

 

**captain-america:**

_have fun!_

 

As he finishes up his lunch, he scrolls back up to the godforsaken picture, just to let himself ogle a little bit more. Steve wishes that he could’ve been there in person when James was trying on his new clothes, maybe playfully run his hands up and down that sweet little body each time he stripped naked. 

 

Steve’s getting these desires more and more frequently, nowadays. 

 

It’s been nearly three months since he and James started talking and Steve wants _more_ , so much more. 

 

Sure, he’s content and happy with whatever it is they have going on right now, but at the same time — it’s not enough. He wants to hear James’ voice, wants to find out what he smells like, wants to know if his cock tastes as good as it looks. When Steve gets himself off to thoughts of James, there’s an ache in his gut and a longing in his chest because he wants so bad for it to be _James’_ hands on his body, on his legs, on his cock. 

 

It’s getting harder and harder to keep a lid on his emotions, to keep the _want_ at bay. 

 

James is his sweetest addiction. Every time Steve chats with him, it’s like he’s shooting up with the kind of drug that only James can deliver; the withdrawal he feels whenever they’re not talking only intensifies with each passing day. 

 

——————————

 

It’s a Sunday afternoon and Steve’s just come back from an enjoyable lunch with Thor, his old buddy from college. He plops down on his couch and pulls out his phone, immediately opening up the Tumblr app to see if James has sent him any messages. 

 

What he sees the top post on his dash, he drops his phone on his face. 

 

“Ow!” he exclaims, rubbing at the bridge of his nose indignantly.

 

Steve picks up his phone again and — yep, he wasn’t hallucinating. 

 

James has just posted two new pictures.

 

They might just be Steve’s new favourites. 

 

In the first one, James is on all fours on his bed, ass towards the camera. His cock is hard, his balls are on display and his hole practically screaming out for Steve’s fingers (or tongue, or cock). 

 

And, whilst that picture is itself a stunner, it’s the picture _beneath_ it that completely steals Steve’s breath. James is in the same pose, but it’s clearly on a different day, because the duvet cover is a different one. And — Steve has to take a deep breath to calm his racing heart — his beautiful cock is locked up in a fucking _cage_. 

 

It’s a simple one, from what Steve can see, which isn’t a lot, given James’ positioning. It’s black, with a band that goes around his balls and steel bands that encircle his shaft. 

 

And to top that off — because James is an extra little shit — he’s got a sizeable black plug nestled between his cheeks. _God_ the sight of it is making Steve salivate. He can see James’ rim stretched wide to accommodate the toy and— _oh_. Oh, now he’s imagining what it took to get that plug in there. 

 

James would’ve had to cage his cock first; there’s no way he could’ve than with his dick hard. And—and then he would’ve had to open himself up with his fingers, get his hole slick with lube, before pressing the plug in. Did he tease himself? Did he toy with his prostate? What sounds was he making? Did he enjoy the pain of his hardening cock being constricted by the cage?

 

It is with these thoughts and questions flying through his head that Steve unzips his jeans and pulls his cock out of his boxers. He pushes his shirt up to his chest and jerks himself hard and fast, biting back cries of ecstasy as his fist flies up and down his shaft. He’s not in it to make the pleasure last, so he spills over his fingers and onto his stomach not moments later. 

 

Once his brain has cleared of its post-orgasmic fog, Steve locates his phone from where it’s dropped on the floor with his clean hand. He pulls up his chat with James. 

 

**captain-america:**

_WHAT THE FUCK_

_one of these days istg ur going to give me an aneurysm_

_or heart attack_

_probably both_

_simultaneously_

 

He receives James’ response within a few seconds. 

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_what’d i do?_

 

**captain-america:**

_u know what_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_ohhhh_

_the pictures?_

 

**captain-america:**

_u know it_

 

**thewintersoldier:**

_:P_

_don’t lie_

_we both know u love them_

 

Steve barely manages to stop himself from typing out ‘I love u’. 

 

Yeah, he’s well and truly fucked. 

 

——————————

 

“Steve!”

 

Steve sighs at the sound of the over-exuberant voice coming from the other end of the line. “Hi Tony,” he says, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

 

“I’m calling to inform you that you’ve been set up on a blind date.”

 

“I—what?” Steve splutters. 

 

“Do you need me to repeat myself, old man? I said—,”

 

“No, Tony, I heard what you said, I just—,”

 

“Perfect, I’ll text you the details.”

 

“Tony, wait!” Steve cries, “C’mon, gimme some context here.”

 

Tony huffs impatiently. “It’s with someone from my research team. I’m sending them over to DC for the next couple of days to meet with some potential suppliers. You’re in DC, he’s headed to DC, ergo, I set you two up on a date!”

 

“Tony,” Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want to go on a blind date.”

 

“Steve,” Tony tuts, “You’ve been out of the scene for years now, surely it’s time to jump back in?”

 

“That’s not it, Tony,” Steve mutters, getting up from his stool to pace around his studio. 

 

“Then what, pray tell, is the matter, oh favourite artist of mine?” Tony sing-songs. 

 

Steve chews on his lip, unsure of how to phrase his concern. “There’s…someone I’m interested in.”

 

Tony whistles. “Look at you, Steve, getting out there and finding yourself a partner!”

 

“No—no, it’s not like that, Tony, we’re…not dating,” Steve admits. 

 

“Why do I sense that there’s a ‘but’ in there?” Tony prods.

 

“I want to,” Steve sighs, “I want us to be dating.”

 

“So what’s the issue?”

 

“He’s…not in DC.”

 

“Ah,” Tony says, drawing out the syllable. Steve can picture him nodding his head sagely. “Tough.”

 

“You’re telling me,” Steve huffs. “So thanks for the offer, Tony, but I’m gonna have to say no.”

 

“Uh, you can’t exactly do that,” Tony says, his voice betraying an edge of panic. 

 

“Why not?” Steve asks tersely.

 

“Well, because this guy is currently on my private jet and headed in your direction. From the airport, he’ll be met by a private car and taken directly to one of my favourite restaurants — you know the one Steve, that place I took you with the seafood pasta you liked?”

 

Steve grunts noncommittally. 

 

“And there I have a table booked for 7PM and he’ll be expecting you!” Tony finishes.

 

“Tony—,”

 

“Steve, even if you two don’t wind up dating, I think you should go anyway, ‘cause he’s a nice guy and I think you’ll enjoy his company,” Tony says. “Just be upfront with him from the start, and he’ll get it. Plus, are you really turning down a free meal from me?”

 

Steve huffs out a frustrated exhale through his teeth. 

 

“Fine. But the next time you commission me for something, I’m asking for double the last time.”

 

“You got it.”

 

——————————

Steve’s got a couple of hours to kill before he needs to leave, so he spends about half that time finishing up some work. He’s got a handful of small pieces that he’s doing for some people that have contacted him through Tumblr, and works on one of them — a landscape watercolour — for a little while. 

 

Once he’s satisfied with his progress, Steve does a quick tidy of his studio — because no matter what Sam says, he is _not_ a slob — and then heads into the bathroom to grab a quick shower. 

 

He’s feeling a little uneasy about this blind date business. 

 

He’s had friends set him up on blind dates before and while none of them have been catastrophic, he’s never felt the need to set up a second date either. 

 

Really, the only kind of date Steve wants to be going on right now is one with James, preferably a date that involves food and a hell of a lot of sex, not necessarily in that order. Regardless, he’s worked with Tony on several occasions and has learned to view him as something of a friend, albeit one that he prefers to keep at arm’s length. Steve thinks that Tony knows him well enough to know what his standards are and so — if Tony says this guy’s a nice one, then Steve’s willing to go in with an open mind. 

 

Plus. He really _does_ like that seafood pasta. And a free dinner? He’d be crazy to turn that one down. 

 

Freshly showered, Steve decides to go with a pair of black slacks that make his ass look great and the light blue button down that Natasha gave him for his last birthday (that apparently makes his eyes look bluer) with a black sweater pulled on top. A pair of dark oxfords complete the look. It’s classy, crisp, comfortable, and doesn’t look like something that took twenty minutes and multiple outfit changes to pull together. 

 

The restaurant is only a fifteen minute walk from his place, but he’s running a little late — not at all because he spent too much time messing with his hair, before giving up completely — and decides to take a cab instead. Steve would prefer to take his bike, but he doesn’t know how much alcohol he’ll be drinking tonight and doesn’t want to risk it. 

 

Toscano, on 11th Street is not the kind of Italian restaurant that Steve would be going to on his own mint. It’s a classic Tony kind of place — swanky background music, dishes with names that Steve can’t pronounce and prices that would make his ma turn over in her grave. 

 

When he gets there, Steve gives the maître d’ Tony’s name and is then ushered to a table near the back of the restaurant. It seems that his date has arrived before him. 

 

He’s seated with his back towards Steve, so all Steve can see is the dark brown hair pulled back into a neat bun and the black shirt stretched over a muscled back. When Steve gets to the table, his mystery date glances up from his menu and—wow.

 

Steve is floored. 

 

His date is fucking _stunning_. 

 

He’s roguishly handsome with his angular jaw, beautiful skin and plush pink lips. His smile manages to be welcoming, playful and devilish, all at the same time; it leaves Steve a little bit weak in the knees. But really, it’s those eyes that makes Steve’s breath catch in his throat. They’re steely blue and filled with mischievous intent, wise beyond their years and boring a hole into Steve’s soul. 

 

“Hi,” Steve says. He wants to smack himself on the forehead immediately after the words leave his mouth. _Seriously_ , Steve, have you no game? Is that the best you could come up with?

 

His date’s smile broadens — _fuck_ , he smiles with his eyes too, dear _god_ , Steve’s goner. As Steve pulls his chair out to sit down, his date stands up and extends his hand. “Hi, I’m Bucky,” he says. 

 

Steve sighs internally. Of _course_ this gorgeous human being has a voice to match that exterior. Deep and velvety and smooth, the kind of voice that makes his spine feel tingly. 

 

“I’m Steve,” says Steve, as he clasps Bucky’s hand in his own. He’s got nice fingers, Steve notes absently, probably plays an instrument. “You been waiting here long?” he asks, as he takes his seat and flips open the menu. 

 

“Nah,” Bucky says, with an easy shake of his head. “Just got in a couple of minutes before you did.”

 

“Oh that’s good,” Steve murmurs, as his eyes scan the list of items. He sneaks surreptitious glances over the top of his menu whenever he thinks that Bucky isn’t looking.

 

Bucky’s got more than just a beautiful face, Steve decides. He’s not usually a fan of long hair on men, but Bucky makes it work without it looking too hipster-ish. There are a couple of strands that have fallen over his forehead; Steve’s fingers itch to comb them back into place. 

 

He’s on the smaller side, though when he stood up to greet Steve, Steve guessed that Bucky’s only a couple of inches shorter than him. His crisp black shirt is fitted enough for Steve to know that his build is on the lithe side of the spectrum. Bucky’s sleeves have been rolled up to the elbows, revealing veined forearms wrapped in tanned skin. 

 

Huh. 

 

There’s something about those arms that look familiar. 

 

But, no matter how beautiful Bucky may be, Steve has his heart set on James. He’ll let Bucky make his order, then let him down gently, explain the situation to him. Honesty is the best policy and hopefully, that won’t be a dampener on the rest of the evening. 

 

——————————

 

“So, Steve,” Bucky says, once the waiter has cleared their menus. “You’re chewing on your lip like you’re bursting to tell me somethin’. Spill it, will ya?”

 

The question startles a laugh out of Steve. “Heh, yeah, actually, um—,” he pauses to take a deep breath and run his fingers through his hair. 

 

“I—uh, am kinda interested in someone else, at the minute,” he says carefully. 

 

Bucky’s eyebrows twitch. 

 

“I mean, I didn’t ask Tony to set this up or anything, and I don’t know what he’s told you, but he called me two hours ago to tell me that this was happening and—,”

 

“Woah, hey there, slow down, pal,” Bucky says, placating Steve’s nerves with an easy smile. “I ain’t mad.”

 

“You’re not?” Steve asks, feeling the tension and nerves dissipate from his chest in abrupt whoosh. 

 

“Naw, Tony said that he hadn’t told you ‘bout this when he set things up, so I figured something like this might happen,” Bucky says, shrugging indifferently. “‘Sides, to tell you the truth, I…am kinda interested in someone too.”

 

“Oh?” Steve says, quirking an eyebrow in surprise. “And you agreed to this?”

 

Bucky snorts. “No, actually. I was only informed of my evening plans when I got off my plane.” He scrunches up his nose and narrows his eyes. “Tony has a habit of doing things like this,” Bucky mutters. 

 

Steve chuckles, nodding his head in agreement. “That he does,” he murmurs. “So…we’re clear, then? I mean…I’m not expecting anything from you after this, and you—,”

 

“I’m just looking forward to a nice meal and some good conversation,” Bucky finishes, shooting Steve another one of those smiles that makes his knees forget how to work. 

 

“I can deliver that,” Steve says. 

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

“Yeah. How was your flight?”

 

Bucky rolls his eyes theatrically. “Really?” he deadpans, “If that’s your idea of interesting, then I don’t wanna find out what your idea of boring is.”

 

“Shuddup,” Steve mutters, feeling the tips of his ears burn with embarrassment. 

 

“It was alright,” Bucky tells him, sitting forward in his seat and leaning his elbows on the table. “Tony Stark’s private jet — had a glass of champagne waitin’ for me when I got on. What more could I want?”

 

“Oh, the life of a billionaire,” Steve sighs theatrically. “So what’re you doing in DC?”

 

“Meetings, mostly,” Bucky says. “There’s a guy out here who’s developed a new carbon compound that SI could make use of. I’m here to see if he’s legit or not.”

 

“You’re in SI R&D, right?” Steve asks, after taking a sip of his water. James is also in the R&D world, Steve thinks absently.

 

“Yeah. Stark brought me in when I was fresh outta college and that’s where I’ve been ever since,” Bucky says. “And yourself? Tony tells me you’re an artist?”

 

Steve nods. “Yeah, that’s me. I paint and sketch, mostly. Ever since I worked with Tony a couple’a years back, the commissions have been rolling in pretty steadily. And I get invited to create work for exhibitions and so on, so I make something there too.”

 

“Cool,” Bucky murmurs, nodding his head thoughtfully.

 

Their food arrives at that moment. When he smells the delectable seafood pasta, Steve realises just how famished he is and tucks in eagerly. 

 

Conversation flows smoothly, because Bucky is _of course_ the kind of person that puts you at ease and makes you feel like it’s okay to loosen up a little. Bucky makes him laugh, and always has a quip up his sleeve or a cool anecdote to share. Bucky is intelligent and humble, with a hint of dorkiness and a whole lot of charm. 

 

There’s something achingly familiar about him, a quality that Steve can’t quite place. His mannerisms, his way of speaking, his body language — they’re all pointing towards something. It’s like they’re all pieces of a puzzle that Steve’s brain is scrambling to put together, but that’s easier said than done when he doesn’t even know what the final picture is supposed to look like.

 

“I know this sounds kinda strange,” Bucky says, when the two of them are almost finished with their meals. “But I feel like we’ve met before.”

 

Steve cocks his head to the side and narrows his eyes. “Y’know what? I was just thinking the same.”

 

——————————

 

“So where’re you headed off to, after this?” Steve asks, as he wipes his mouth with his napkin and reaches for the last of his wine.

 

Bucky shrugs. “I was gonna just walk back to my hotel, probably.”

 

“Whereabouts are you staying?”

 

Bucky rattles off an address and Steve’s face lights up. “Oh! My place is on the way — maybe I can walk with you for a bit?”

 

Shit, was that too forward?

 

“Uh—if you want me to, of course,” Steve adds hastily. 

 

Bucky smiles easily at him. “I’d love that,” he says sincerely. 

 

Steve ducks his head to hide the small smile playing on his lips. 

 

Steve realises how fucked he is. 

 

In the hour or so they’ve spent together, Bucky has managed to affect Steve in a way no one else has, not for a while. Steve hasn’t laughed this much on a date since —well, ever. But, his heart is in love with James, so Steve knows that he’ll have to say goodbye to Bucky by the end of the evening. The thought of that leaves him surprisingly downcast. 

 

This is going to be harder than he anticipated. 

 

——————————

 

“You don’t have to do this, y’know,” Bucky says, falling into step beside Steve as they leave the restaurant. 

 

“Do what?”

 

“I mean, if it’s out of your way or anything—,”

 

“No, no, I’m being honest, my apartment’s literally on the way to your hotel,” Steve assures him. 

 

They’re silent for a little while, focusing instead on weaving their way through the post-dinner crowd on the pavement. Steve startles when Bucky knocks their shoulders together. 

 

“Hey—I just wanted to tell you that I had a really nice evening,” Bucky says softly. 

 

Steve turns his head to the side. “I did too,” he murmurs. He looks up when he hears the ominous rumble of thunder; it sounds really close.

 

“Ah fuck,” he curses, “It’s probably gonna rain soon, d’you wanna stop and take a cab now or—wait, Bucky?”

 

He stops when he realises that Bucky is no longer walking beside him. Confused, he turns around to find Bucky frozen in place a few steps back, staring at the pavement in shock. Frowning, Steve jogs back to his side and taps his forearm hesitantly. 

 

“Bucky? Are you okay?”

 

That seems to snap him out of his spell. Bucky blinks his eyes rapidly and huffs out a disbelieving laugh. “Yeah, m’fine,” he says, giving Steve a smile that’s a little tighter than the ones he’s been giving him all evening. 

 

“You sure?” Steve presses, brows furrowing in concern.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky says, waving his hand flippantly as he strides forward, “Just—uhh thought that I might’ve—left my phone in the restaurant, is all.”

 

The stilted nature of that sentence makes Steve inclined to think that it’s a lie, but he’s not going to push it. 

 

For the rest of their walk, Steve can feel Bucky sneaking glances at him every time he thinks that Steve’s attention is elsewhere. He wants to ask what’s wrong, wants to ask what’s made Bucky so tense all of a sudden, but knows that that’s not in his place. 

 

When he and Bucky turn the corner onto his street, Steve hears a booming clap from the skies above, just seconds before buckets of water are dumped down on them.

 

“Shit!” he swears, blinking rapidly to clear his eyes against the sudden deluge. He turns and grabs Bucky’s wrist, tugging him forward. “C’mon, my place is just up the road, you can call a cab from there!”

 

They make a mad dash down the street to try to get inside before the rain gets any heavier. But, by the time he and Bucky are huddled in front of the entrance to Steve’s apartment block, they’re both soaked to the bone. 

 

“Come upstairs,” Steve tells him, as he fishes his key out of his pocket and swipes it over the reader. “You can borrow some dry clothes and wait for a taxi in there.”

 

“Oh—you don’t have to do that!” Bucky protests, as Steve ushers him through the lobby, towards the lifts. “I’ll just wait down here, and—,”

 

“And freeze to death?” Steve retorts. He jabs the elevator call button. 

 

“Steve, I’m _fine_ ,” Bucky says insistently. 

 

“Uh-huh, you’re shivering like a fucking leaf, Buck,” he observes coolly, “I ain’t taking no for an answer.”

 

The elevator pings to signal its arrival. When the doors open, Steve jerks his head to indicate that Bucky should get in. 

 

“Fine,” Bucky mutters, as he steps inside. “Because you’re offering.”

 

Bucky is silent during the elevator ride up to Steve’s floor and as they walk down the corridor to Steve’s apartment. Now that they’re out of the rain, there’s no blocking out the wet squelch their clothes make with every movement. When Steve glances at Bucky out of the corner of his eye, he sees that his lips _are_ looking a little blue. 

 

“Here we are,” Steve murmurs, as he unlocks his apartment and motions for Bucky to come inside. Steve toes off his shoes and flicks the switches by the door to turn on the lights. Beside him, he hears Bucky’s audible gasp. 

 

“What?” Steve asks, whipping around to look at him. Bucky’s looking at Steve’s apartment with wide eyes and his eyebrows raised are so high, they’ve almost disappeared into his hairline. 

 

“Bucky? You okay?”

 

Bucky shakes himself out of his daze. “I—yeah, yeah, m’good,” he mutters absentmindedly, flashing Steve a terse smile. “I—uh…think my ma has that rug, actually,” he says, gesturing towards the off-white rug underneath Steve’s coffee table. 

 

“You’re ma has good taste,” Steve says. “C’mon, bathroom’s this way.”

 

Bucky walks through Steve’s apartment like a skittish, curious kitten, giving every piece of furniture an appraising glance. He’s worrying incessantly at his bottom lip, casting furtive glances at Steve like he wants to tell him something but is too afraid to do so. Steve doesn’t quite know what to make of this change in behaviour. 

 

He opens the door to the bathroom and pulls on the string to turn on the light. “Feel free to use whatever,” he says, flapping his hand at the shower products lined up in his hanging shower caddy. “There’re towels under the sink, grab one when you’re done. I’ll get you something dry to wear — I think I’ve got some old clothes that might fit you,” he muses.

 

Bucky smiles at him. “Thanks, Steve,” he says softly. 

 

Steve leaves Bucky to shower in peace. He’s still feeling a little off-kilter because of Bucky’s behaviour since they left dinner, but he puts those thoughts to the back of his head. Steve heads into his laundry room to strip off his wet clothes and dump them in the dryer — he’ll wait and see if Bucky wants to put his stuff in here too, before he runs a cycle. 

 

He digs through his laundry basket and pulls out a pair of jeans and a maroon henley to wear until he can have a shower and change into pyjamas, because he doesn’t want to change into fresh clothes until he’s warm and clean. Steve decides not to bother with underwear. 

 

Dressed in dry — albeit a little smelly — clothes, Steve heads to his bedroom to pull out some things for Bucky to wear. A search through his drawers unearths a pair of old, light grey sweats and a plain grey tee that he’s had since college. They’re too short and too tight for him respectively, but Steve thinks that they could be about Bucky’s size. He leaves them on his dresser, then goes back out and flops down on his couch to check his emails and kill time until Bucky’s done. 

 

When the bathroom door opens and Bucky emerges, Steve looks up and—

 

_Holy fuck, damn and shit_. 

 

Bucky is clad in a towel that’s hanging dangerous low on his waist. His dark hair is a little limp and straggly, yet still manages to frame his face in an attractive manner. His torso is gorgeous, with lightly defined, supple muscles underneath a layer of golden skin. 

 

But it’s the tattoo on his shoulder that steals Steve attention. 

 

Steve now realises why Bucky seems so familiar.

 

Steve now realises why Bucky has managed to make him fall so hard in such a short space of time. 

 

Because Bucky, somehow, by some magical power in the universe, is _James_. 

 

For starters, Steve could recognise that body anywhere; he’s fantasised about it enough times over the last few months. And, even if he didn’t recognise Bucky’s — _James’_ — body, there’s no hiding a tattoo as unique as that one. 

 

Steve’s brain is about to explode with this revelation. 

 

“Steve?” Bucky asks, cocking his head to the side, one side of his mouth crooking up in an amused smirk. “You alright there?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve says weakly. “Yeah—m’fine. There’re some clothes on top of the dresser in the first room on your left.”

 

“Thanks!” Bucky calls, turning on his heel and striding off. 

 

Steve closes his eyes and presses his fingers to his temples, massaging them hard as he attempts to stop himself from hyperventilating. The picture has suddenly become crystal clear, and all those puzzle pieces that were previously floating around inside his head have clicked into place. Honestly, the parallels were so strong, Steve’s surprised that it’s taken him this long to come to this conclusion. 

 

James is from New York, and so is Bucky

 

James works in R&D, and so does Bucky. 

 

James works in an F500 company and Stark Industries is _definitely_ one of those.

 

And then of course, there’s the fact that Bucky talks like James, has James’ build, has his sense of humour, because James and Bucky are _one and the same_. 

 

And—oh goodness. Steve thinks back to what James said at the start of their dinner date. He’d told Steve that he’s interested in someone too. Is—could that be—does he mean—Steve hardly dares to finish the sentence in his mind, for fear that that is what will send him spiralling into hysteria. 

 

With sweaty palms, Steve grabs his phone and pulls up his Tumblr app to make a panic text post, because he needs to get this shit off his chest somehow. In the main body, he types a collection of exclamation and question marks. Then, in the tags, he writes:

 

_#send help #all the help #much help needed #pls #i do not know how ot do these things #how tf do u tell your crush that u like them??? #how do people just DO THAT?? #y’all the weirdest shit happened today #and i can’t tell u the details #but #my crush is LITERALLY in the next room getting changed #and i’m kinda melting into the couch having a heart attack over here #advice wanted #cap speaks #tbd_

 

Steve hits ‘post’, then slides his phone into his pocket, presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and takes several deep breaths to calm himself down. 

 

He can do this. He can be cool about this. He can handle this like a grown-ass adult. 

 

The door to his bedroom bursts open and Bucky comes bounding out, a determined look on his face. Steve sits up on his couch, brows pulling together in confusion. 

 

“Bucky, what’s—,”

 

“How d’you tell your crush you like them?” Bucky interrupts, throwing his legs over Steve’s to straddle him. “Like _this,_ ” he snarls, grabbing two fistfuls of Steve’s shirt and crashing their lips together.

 

Steve’s brain short-circuits for a second. His mind goes blank and he freezes in place, too shocked to do anything. 

 

_Holy shit this is actually happening._

 

When his systems come back online, he doesn’t hesitate to respond in kind, body surging forward to match the intensity of Bucky’s kiss. One of Steve’s arms wraps around his waist — his _fucking tiny waist_ — whilst his other hand tangles through Bucky’s damp hair, holding his head in place so that Steve can kiss him senseless, the way he’s always wanted to. Bucky gasps into his mouth and Steve takes this opportunity to sneak his tongue past those pretty pink lips. 

 

Steve is not ashamed to admit that he’s kissing Bucky like he’s a man starved for the oxygen that only Bucky can deliver. Bucky just tastes so damn _good_ — like summer sunshine and lazy afternoons, all rolled into one. 

 

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky pants, his hands moving to cup Steve’s jaw, “I can’t believe it.”

 

“Me neither,” Steve breathes, his lips brushing against Bucky’s with each word. “What—how did you know that I—,”

 

Bucky chuckles breathlessly, planting a firm, lingering kiss on Steve’s lips before pulling back an inch. “I have post notifications turned on for you, you punk,” he says fondly. 

 

Steve swallows, tipping his head back so that he can look at Bucky properly. Steve now realises that none of those pictures on his Tumblr ever did him justice. He’s so much more breath-taking in person, which says a lot, considering how beautiful his pictures are.

 

Bucky’s eyes are almost entirely black, the steely-blue of his irises nothing but a thin ring of colour. His cheeks are flushed, his hair’s a mess and his lips are kiss-bitten and swollen. He’s wearing Steve’s shirt that is a little too big for him, so the neckline has slipped down to reveal those collarbones that Steve’s always wanted to taste — that he now _can taste_ — and it suddenly feels too much. 

 

“Am I dreaming?” Steve breathes in awe, cupping Bucky’s jaw with his left hand and brushing his thumb over his cheek. “Is this really happening? Are you really—,” Steve breaks off, his mouth suddenly unable to form words.

 

Bucky nods, turning his face to press a kiss to Steve’s palm. “M’name’s James Buchanan Barnes,” he says quietly, leaning forward to leave another kiss on the corner of Steve’s mouth. “Most people call me Bucky, but—I wanted you to have something special.”

 

Steve laughs softly, craning his neck forward until Bucky gets the message and kisses him again. Bucky sighs happily, sinking his full weight onto Steve’s lap as he loops his arms around Steve’s neck. Steve lets his hands wander over Bucky’s body; down his back, over his sides, groping at his ass, all the while amazed at the fact that that he can _touch_. 

 

“When did you realise?” he asks, the next time they pull away. 

 

“On the street,” Bucky says, “That’s when it clicked. You said something to me and I caught your side profile — I recognised it from that picture you sent me, remember?”

 

“I do,” Steve murmurs, squeezing Bucky’s waist affectionately. 

 

“But to be honest, I kinda thought it was you during dinner,” Bucky admits. “M’guessing you figured it out when I showed you my tattoo?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, leaning forward to nibble on Bucky’s jaw. He replays the sentence in his head and pauses, wondering why it doesn’t quite sound right. 

 

“You fucker!” he exclaims, leaning back to look Bucky in the eye. 

 

“What?” Bucky says innocently. 

 

“You did that on purpose!”

 

“Did what on purpose?” Bucky asks, playing up the innocent cluelessness by fluttering his eyelashes.

 

“Letting me see your tattoo,” Steve replies. 

 

Bucky smirks. “So what if I did? It worked, didn’t it?”

 

Steve growls, cupping his hand ‘round the back of Bucky’s neck to pull him forward. He’s going dizzy, intoxicated by the little sounds that Bucky makes — the sounds that he’s been _dying_ to hear — and drunk on Bucky’s fresh smell. Steve gasps when Bucky rolls his hips against Steve’s pelvis, drawing Steve’s attention to the fact that yes, both their cocks are hard. 

 

“Stay,” he pants, as he trails wet kisses down Bucky’s neck. “Please? For—for the night, or—,”

 

“Yes,” Bucky moans brokenly, biting his lip and nodding his head fervently. “I want to.”

 

Steve groans, pressing his forehead to the crook of Bucky’s neck in an attempt to calm the fuck down. He’s seconds away from coming in his pants and mortifying himself. He tugs the collar of Bucky’s shirt to the side to lave his tongue at Bucky’s collarbone, soaking up the clean taste of his freshly-washed skin. Bucky outright whimpers, hips bucking and fingers spasming against Steve’s shoulders as Steve nibbles and kisses his way back up to his mouth. 

 

At some point, Steve finds that he’s his hands underneath the t-shirt, which means that his fingers are dancing over Bucky’s bare skin. He runs his hands up Bucky’s side, the t-shirt bunching up as he goes, until Bucky gets the message and breaks the kiss long enough to yank the material over his head. Steve cups one of Bucky’s pecs and brushes his thumb over the pebbled nipple, swallowing the heated moan that rumbles out of Bucky’s mouth. 

 

“Lie back,” Bucky pants, pressing down on Steve’s shoulders. 

 

It takes some manoeuvring, but Steve manages to bring his legs onto the couch and arrange himself so that his head’s on the armrest, his legs are splayed out over the cushions and Bucky is firmly planted in his lap, crouching over Steve so that they can keep kissing. In the process of shifting positions, Bucky’s managed to push Steve’s shirt up to expose his chest and is now using his nails to tease and tweak Steve’s nipples. 

 

“ _Ah_ —fuck,” Steve gasps, hips rolling involuntarily, as the nipple-pinching sends a current of pleasure zinging up and down his spine. Bucky chuckles against Steve’s mouth. 

 

Steve manages to land his hand on the swell of Bucky’s ass and uses it to coax him into moving his hips. Bucky rolls his body in smooth, sinuous motions, grinding his hard dick against Steve’s own. The friction is intense; so intense, in fact, that Steve thinks he might actually blow his load before Bucky’s even gotten a hand on his dick. 

 

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky pleads, his fingers digging into Steve’s sides. “Touch me, _please_.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Steve pants. His free hand — the one not currently pawing at Bucky’s ass — slips between their bodies, until the backs of his knuckles are brushing against Bucky’s erection. Bucky cries out at the touch. 

 

Somehow, Steve is able to get his noodle-neck working long enough for him to lift his head up to watch what he’s doing. Bucky’s cock is tenting the sweats in the most lewd manner possible, and there a dark spot forming on the light grey fabric, right where the head of his dick is. Steve makes a sound that’s a cross between a moan and a growl, ridiculously turned on by that image. 

 

“Look’it you, sweetheart,” Steve breathes, as he cradles Bucky’s cock in his hand, transfixed by the pretty sight that makes. Bucky lets out a whimper, hips jerking into Steve’s touch. In a trance-like state, Steve slowly rubs his thumb over the dark spot, spreading the wetness around. 

 

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky chokes out.

 

Steve glances at Bucky and sees that his eyes are screwed tightly shut, in sharp contrast to the way his mouth is hanging slack with pleasure. Smirking internally, Steve tightens his grip on Bucky’s shaft to watch the way his brows furrow, to hear the pained noise that passes his lips. 

 

“Want me to jack you off, pretty?” Steve asks, his voice a low purr. “I wanna see your pretty dick and watch you come — d’you want me to do that?”

 

“Yes yes yes, _please_ ,” Bucky says frantically, the words coming out in one exhale. 

 

Consent obtained, Steve hooks his thumb into Bucky’s sweats and swiftly tugs them down, allowing his cock to spring free. He tucks the waistband behind Bucky’s balls. 

 

“ _Holy shit_ ,” Steve breathes emphatically, as he devours Bucky’s cock with his eyes. Once again, no picture has ever done him justice. 

 

His dick is fucking _beautiful_ , heavily swollen and curving up towards his belly, the tip glistening with pearls of pre-come. It’s flushed a deep pink and there are a couple of prominent veins that Steve aches to trace with his tongue. 

 

Bucky’s palms manage to cup Steve’s jaw and tilt his face upwards, so that their lips can meet in another scorching hot kiss. Steve gets his hand around Bucky’s length, which in turn causes Bucky to moan into Steve’s mouth. He uses his thumb to spread Bucky’s pre-come around, slicking up his palm. Steve strokes Bucky’s cock with slow, deliberate motions, savouring the hot, heavy weight of it in his hand.

 

“ _Auh_ ,” Bucky gasps, turning his face away to catch his breath. He presses his forehead against Steve’s shoulder and groans into his shirt as Steve continues to fist his cock. 

 

“Been wantin’ this for so long,” Steve tells him quietly, turning to press a kiss on the tip of Bucky’s ear. “Been wantin’ to taste you and smell you and feel you and hear all the lil’ sounds you make.”

 

Bucky turns his head to the side to look at Steve, a dopey smile on his lips, a glassy look in his eyes. “You feel so good,” he says softly.

 

Steve smiles benevolently at him whilst tightening his grip and upping the pace of his hand at the same time. Bucky scrunches up his noise and _keens_ , hips making an aborted thrust into Steve’s fist. 

 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Bucky gasps out, pushing himself upright so that he’s sitting back and straddling Steve’s lap. 

 

Perplexed, Steve stills his hand and wonders what went wrong, until he realises that Bucky is scrabbling at the fly of Steve’s jeans, trying to get them undone. Once he catches onto Bucky’s drift, Steve uses his other hand to undo his fly, then lifts his hips slightly so that Bucky can push his jeans down far enough to get his cock and balls out. 

 

“Jesus fucking Christ you’re huge,” Bucky mutters. Steve barks out a startled laugh, which makes Bucky smile in turn. Steve’s laugh dwindles into a drawn-out groan when Bucky strokes him from base to tip.

 

“ _Shit_ —oh Bucky,” he sighs, eyes fluttering shut against the onslaught of pleasure. Bucky hums in response. 

 

“Good?” he asks. Steve bites his lip and nods vigorously in answer, because he doesn’t quite trust his voice right now. 

 

“Here—wait, like this, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs, urging Bucky to scoot forward, so that Steve can wrap his hand around _both_ their cocks. This is apparently a plan that Bucky wholly agrees with, because he curls his body forward once again, so that he can give Steve a passionate kiss. 

 

Steve starts to stroke both their cocks in tandem and sweet _god_ this feels better than anything he could’ve ever imagined. 

 

His head is spinning, his brain is turning to gooey mush, pleasure is singing though his veins and to top it all off, Bucky is making the most exquisite noises right against his ear. He’s started to thrust his hips into the tightness of Steve’s fist, the motion creating added friction against Steve’s cock. 

 

As they rut against each other, Steve’s other hand roams over Bucky’s ass and dips between his cheeks, which earns him an especially high-pitched whine. 

 

“Been waitin’ for this for so long,” Steve growls, as he grabs a handful of Bucky’s ass possessively. 

 

“I wanna fuck you so bad,” he says, as his middle finger gently brushes over Bucky’s hole. “Wanna slick you up and fuck you, right here,” he says, tapping the furl of muscle twice. 

 

Bucky responds with a loud moan, pushing his ass back into Steve’s grip to show his agreement with that plan. 

 

“Wan’ you to fuck me,” he slurs, “Wanna be full’a your cock.”

 

“Oh pretty, _yes_ ,” Steve hisses, as Bucky’s mouth clumsily finds his own once again. Steve lets go of Bucky’s ass momentarily to run his fingers through the puddle of pre-come that has collected on his abs, getting his fingers covered in the sticky substance. Then, he brings them back to Bucky’s hole and starts massaging it gently, marvelling at how the muscle twitches in response.

 

“Steve,” Bucky grits out, breaking the kiss to take a shuddering breath. “Steve, m’gonna come ‘f you keep doin’ that.”

 

“Good,” Steve growls, his voice so low and gravelly, he almost doesn’t recognise it as his own. “Wanna see you come, pretty, wanna see you make a mess,” he says, nipping on Bucky’s jaw for emphasis. 

 

Bucky whines, his head thrown back in rapturous pleasure as his hips increase their pace, rutting frantically into the tightness of Steve’s fist. Steve continues the patient motions of his fingers at Bucky’s hole, spreading the slick between his cheeks. 

 

“C’mon, pretty,” Steve purrs, licking a stripe up Bucky’s throat, tasting the sweat that is clinging to his skin. “You gonna come for me? You gonna show me how good you feel?”

 

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky whines desperately, digging his nails into the cushions at Steve’s sides. 

 

“That’s it, sweetheart, that’s it,” Steve whispers encouragingly, his fist unwavering in its pace. His own climax is starting to build because of the delicious friction against his cock, the pleasure a pleasant buzzing sensation at the base of his spine. 

 

He tips his head back to look at Bucky properly, awestruck by the picture that he makes. Steve’s inner artist is overcome with the urge to draw him.

 

“C’mon, just let go for me, pretty, just let go, c’mon,” he breathes, mouthing wetly along Bucky’s collarbone. “You’re so close, I know you are, you’re so close, hmm? Just let go for me, sweetheart, I gotcha.”

 

The sharp gasps spilling out of Bucky’s mouth are progressively getting higher in pitch and the rhythm of his hips is beginning to stutter. Steve continues to press hot kisses along Bucky’s throat and jaw, whispering sweetly sinful words to him to urge him closer to his peak.

 

“Come for me,” Steve growls, biting down on the meat of Bucky’s right shoulder and _oh_. 

 

_That_ does the trick. 

 

“Ste— _eve_!” Bucky gasps, throwing his head back in ecstasy as his dick spills, coating Steve’s hand and stomach in ribbons of white. Steve strokes him through his orgasm, loosening his grip and slowing his pace as the spurts weaken, letting go only when Bucky clumsily bats his hand away. 

 

“So pretty for me, sweetheart,” Steve whispers, his other, slightly cleaner hand cupping the back of Bucky’s neck and guiding him down into a sloppy, wet kiss.

 

“ _Guh_ ,” Steve gasps intelligently, when Bucky sneaks a hand between their bodies to wrap around Steve’s cock. 

 

“Your turn now, baby,” Bucky murmurs, his fist gliding easily over Steve’s cock because of all the come lubricating the way. “Wanna see _you_ come for me.”

 

“ _Bucky_ ,” Steve pants, closing his eyes as the pleasure starts to roll through him, the orgasm that he’s been holding off until now quickly bubbling to a crescendo. 

 

“That’s it, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs, peppering soft kisses along Steve’s jaw, “Just come for me, yeah? M’right here with you.”

 

It only takes a few more pulls on his cock for Steve to be shooting all over his stomach. He digs his fingers into Bucky’s side and snaps his hips upwards on instinct, fucking into the tight, sweet channel made by Bucky’s hand. 

 

Afterwards, Bucky grabs the t-shirt they’d discarded earlier and uses it to wipe up the worst of the mess. Steve gathers him into his arms, tucking Bucky into the space between Steve’s body and the back of the couch. They lie there in a tangle of arms and legs as they come down from their highs, trading soft sleepy kisses and secret smiles. 

 

——————————

 

Steve bites his tongue when he hears the front door open, nerves buzzing in anticipation to see what Bucky’s got to say.

 

“Saw your new post!” Bucky calls. Steve can hear him putting his boots and coat into the closet in the entryway. 

 

“Yeah? What’d you think?”

 

Bucky doesn’t answer immediately, but Steve can hear his footfalls as he pads into the kitchen, where Steve is currently doing the dishes. He hums approvingly as Bucky wraps his hands around Steve’s waist and presses his cheek to the back of Steve’s shoulder. Steve turns off the water and rests his right hand on top of Bucky’s forearm, smiling at the joyous feeling in his heart.

 

It’s been seven months since they had their unofficial first date in DC and three since Steve moved into Bucky’s apartment in New York, but he still can’t get over the fact that he can have this whenever he wants — the domesticity, the physical touch. He still finds it hard to believe that Bucky really is _here_ , in the flesh.

 

“I love it,” Bucky says, in answer to Steve’s question, his words muffled by Steve’s shirt. 

 

Steve rolls his eyes. “‘Course you do, it’s a picture of you, you conceited asshole.”

 

Bucky’s body vibrates with laughter as he squeezes Steve affectionately. “Yeah, but at least I’m _your_ conceited asshole.”

 

“Damn straight,” Steve agrees. 

 

“Did’ja see how many notes that thing got?”

 

“All ‘cause of my stellar photography skills, obviously.”

 

Bucky snorts, but makes no further comment. 

 

The picture that Bucky’s referring to is quite possibly Steve’s favourite of all the ones he’s posted on his Tumblr. 

 

It’s an image of Bucky splayed out on his stomach on their rumpled bed. There’s a sheen of sweat glistening on his back and his left leg is bent at the knee, pulled up and inward, whilst the right one is stretched out languidly. The position pulls his cheeks apart, which makes it possible to see the come — _Steve’s come_ — leaking out of his pink, very obviously used, hole. There are love bites on the insides of his thighs and red lines down his back, left behind by Steve’s nails. 

 

The caption beneath it is simple - _Marking what’s mine, inside and out_.

 

“That was a fun night,” Bucky comments. 

 

Steve makes a noise of agreement. 

 

He chuckles as Bucky nuzzles his nose into the crook of Steve’s neck, then laughs when his tongue tastes the soft skin behind Steve’s ear. Bucky’s getting a little handsy, palms roaming over Steve’s torso and pawing lazily at his pecs.

 

“You’re a kinky fucker,” he whispers, warm breath ghosting over Steve’s skin. Steve’s cock twitches with interest inside his sweats. 

 

“Y-yeah. I got a marking kink, what can I say?” Steve mutters hoarsely. 

 

Bucky chuckles darkly, then nips Steve’s earlobe. “That I love it. And I love you. And I wanna do it again.”

**Author's Note:**

> if you share this post on tumblr, I will forever love you :D


End file.
